


let us make history.

by duelbraids



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Letters, Pining and Schemes, post crimson flower, very spoiler heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duelbraids/pseuds/duelbraids
Summary: while pining for an old friend, emperor edelgard von hresvelg recieves a proposal from the king of almyra, a man she thinks she has never met.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 47
Kudos: 249





	1. Chapter 1

The desk of the Emperor was cluttered with letters. Many did not get responses, though a lucky few were shifted into a pile for Hubert to respond to. She was too busy, traveling Fodlan and making peace between leaders and ensuring legislature was enforced. Simply because she _had_ changed the taxes didn’t mean the collectors had changed their practices. Just because the public schools were opened, many private school houses converted for this exact purpose, didn’t mean they had stopped charging. Though the churches still stood, perhaps a constant in her new nation, one she was learning to be okay with. The sun lowers in her window, but she has three letters left. Edelgard picks up an envelope.

The thick edges of this letter are sealed with wax, the emblem of a minor house in Faerghus inscribed in blue. It is embossed with gold filigree, _tackily_ so. One flick of her dagger, and the seal breaks.

_With All Honor to Her Imperial Majesty,_

Edelgard rolls her eyes. Had she already not had a headache, she thinks she'll develop one reading this.

 _I have recently been informed of your changes to our tax system. While I see your admirable goal of lessening the burden on the people, do you truly think dipping into the coffers of noble fortune is a wise decision?_ **_Our_ ** _money has been earned through hard work and diligence to our lands, while the denizens of our provinces only make coin from the graces of those above them._

_I will admit that I suspect the Lady of Public Affairs, whose appointment I greatly opposed, is responsible for this decision. A true lady of high standing would not suggest such an offense._

_As always, I defer to your imperial wisdom,_

_Lord Bezukhov of the Bolkonsky Territory_

For a moment, Edelgard _considers_ deigning this letter a response. She ponders it while stifling a cough. Explaining it simply - if money stayed in the pockets of the people, they had the financial freedom to spend more money, creating a healthy economy that could support the country and indeed, **allow** people to do what they want. Yes, Dorothea had been the one to explain the problem to her, how taxes took most of peasants money. It kept them poor, keeping them in the safety net of farms even if their dreams lie elsewhere. It is the fault of royalty, blind to these problems, and the nobles who exploit them. 

While Edelgard didn’t grow up in opulence (quite the opposite,) she did not know the begging, desperate need for money. Of course, she had been vocal with whose idea it was, but the Lord’s tone in the letter about Dorothea... Perhaps she would reply, inform him of Lord Ashe’s proposal of a minimum wage, and sign it with her utmost approval and support of the two, the first of many common born advisors. Offhandedly discuss adopting elections, all to tease and torment this lord who dare take time to complain that he, too, must contribute.

Ultimately, she puts the letter in the pile for Hubert, before taking it back and crumpling it. Her public word would be just as much an answer.

Two more. Edelgard sighs, and then sniffles. How strange, to be able to sit all day, respond to letters, answer concerned queries, and drink tea. Before, she would not have thought of it. After all, sitting at her desk, _alone_ all day? It made her a target for Those Who Slither. Edelgard had kept herself moving, with people, _always_ with people. Indeed, sometimes she still felt that _need_ to be hypervigilant, to look over her shoulder and make sure the shadows were still where they should be. 

But, as she grabs her next letter, she remembers that they are safe, well, safer than they had been. It had been a strange march on Shambhala, with a corps of wyverns alongside them. After all, _Claude_ had owed her, and when she exposed the Agarthans, he reemerged, his uncle Nader in tow, and offered aid. Repaying his debt, he said. The course of the invasion had only been a little over half a year, but she had spent nearly every day with Claude. They had fallen back into their school day patterns of banter, getting on each other’s nerves, and yet ending with soft glances. Despite their incessant, teasing arguments, Shambhala fell. Thales died, to her own axe; Edelgard was no longer a little girl afraid of her uncle’s beatings, and Those Who Slither were no more. And Claude?

He stuck around for a week, just to help make sure all of his friends were okay, many injured in the battle. Lysithea, Marianne and Ignatz were healthy, Raphael and Leonie were off on their own adventures; Hilda had stayed at home, as valid a decision as any, and Claude even checked on Lorenz, who had been in her envoy for a long time. All were well. He mounted his wyvern, ready to return to his home in Almyra. Edelgard went to see him off, to thank him for his help. 

Claude kissed her when he left. It makes her heart twinge, which is interrupted by a sneeze. _Silly girl,_ she chastises herself. _You’ve got two letters left. Stop mooning and moaning._

The next letter in her dwindling pile was plain, but very well put together. As if the sender had taken even the care to press the envelope. How kind, that it took up not nearly as much space as the golden monstrosity. Indeed, it was plainer upon the inside too. The writing was legible and neat, but not signed in swirls and loops.

_We hope this letter finds you well,_

_We, the members of the Greater Enbarr Synagogue, intend this letter as a thanks. Though our faith has never been outlawed like others, we have never seen so many people feeling safe enough to come to temple. Many did not wish to incur the wrath of the… more emphatic followers of Serios. Now our assembly is full and joyous._

_Please, send my best wishes to the Lady Edmund as well. I understand she is in your cabinet, and some of our assembly have been asking after her. I know we owe her plenty, including changing your mind._

_L’shalom,_

_Rabbi Neta Scwarz_

Edelgard finds herself smiling at this one. How strange to her, that a faith dedicated to Sothis, Serios’ own mother, was smothered by the Church. And if Edelgard stood for the downtrodden, then she stood for them too. The Lady Edmund mentioned, bashful Marianne, had been the one to bring _this_ to her attention, alongside Mercedes and Annette. Even as a follower of Serios, Marianne had been upset about the treatment of the followers of Sothis. Part of her feels horrid, remembering the way Thales, using the guise of her uncle, had tried to tear them down too. If one woman had used her religion to oppress, what was stopping any others? 

But she’s learned to listen to those who _truly_ care about her, even when their points aren’t what she wants to hear, even when she’s wrong. _Especially_ then. Edelgard muses that she is at her best when she does. Despite it, she doesn’t trust herself to reply with enough respect, still able to hear the voice Thales had somehow instilled in her, and folds it back neatly for Hubert. Then moves it to her own pile again. Then, decides to create a third pile. The “ask Manuela for advice on how to respond” pile. 

Manuela had been visiting her twice a week, ever since her surgery. This **surgery** was only a few weeks ago, and yet Edelgard has never felt the days so fully. Her second crest no longer haunted her, though, Edelgard had been dealing with _side effects_ from the treatment _._ Manuela said it was simply her body, so used to holding up the weight of the crest, trying to adapt to this freedom. Her damn cold was one of those side effects. 

So, Edelgard thinks, she will ask her then. And maybe ask her if she knew where to find Claude… None of her letters seemed to reach him, even if she sent the ravens that _knew_ him. They always came back holding her letter, unopened. 

The final letter sits in front of her. Edelgard studies it - fancier than the one before, but not overcompensating. Then, she notes the **Almyran** designs, and indeed; it is sealed with the crest of the Almyran Royal Family. She knew, recently, she had been informed of the coronation of Prince, now King, Khalid, and had sent a small letter, congratulating him and not-so-subtly reminding him that the trade deal across Fodlan was soon to expire, and they must either resign or renegotiate. 

Perhaps this was her official invitation, then. How easy that would be. She opens it, and out tumbles a pressed carnation, leaving Edelgard to puzzle her situation. Searching the letter for clues, she reads.

_Emperor Edelgard,_

_How formal a letter you write! Never have I read a missive so perfectly phrased, though I must admit you did not waste time turning celebrations into trade deals. I have heard tales of the impatience and the temper of the Emperor, though many say she has mellowed with age. I do hope that isn’t true; the spitfire nature suits you._

_Many stories have reached Almyra, about you. That you are a rose of war, though a little bird says you greatly prefer carnations. You are a beautiful fury of red and silver, a sharp tongue to match. Flattery must not appease you, though, given your being unwed. Now, I know, you don’t know much about me, though I hazard that you could guess more than I’d like. But, as you were blunt with me, I will be blunt with you._

_I am not interested in mere trade deals. I want peace, long lasting, true peace, between our people. An alliance, if you will. Our people would benefit greatly, after all, and perhaps mine might teach yours about not needing crests to succeed. I understand your crusade’s end did not quell the battles you must face. Almyra will aid you, on one condition._

_I want your hand in marriage. In return, an alliance, to last for generations._

_Consider it thoroughly,_

_King Khalid._

Her stomach twists; this was not the first proposal she’d received in a letter. Hell, the only thing that made Khalid stand out was his flattery. Most did not waste nor mince words. Marry me, and I will give you this tithe. Marry me, and I will give you soldiers. So, yes, the request was nothing new. She would respond with a no, and proceed in her pining for a man she couldn’t find. Hadn’t found in a year. And yet, this is the first proposal that has hurt. 

Because Edelgard is considering saying yes. 

The electricity of her kiss with Claude meant nothing when compared to a guaranteed alliance with Almyra. Allying with the Queendom of Dagda had been easy - Edelgard had simply spelled out her plans of reparation for Brigid and Duscur, something Dagda’s Queen had been pleased to hear. But Almyra? She’d managed a trade deal, for a weak three years. That was it. The King before Khalid had a _neutral_ opinion on Fodlan, which was better than most, but he did not trust Edelgard. A fair assessment, but it made her anxious. 

And this would ease that anxiety. Marry this Khalid, who apparently found the time to find out her favorite flower, and they will not need to fear war or peace. Fódlan does not have strength to fight a war, not after tearing Those Who Slither out from the root, and Edelgard knows it. While the King did not mention or imply such a threat, her mind could create it all on its own. 

Though it is late, she stands up from her desk, crosses to her door, and calls to a guard, “Bring Lady Arnault and Marquis Vestra to my office. I need their advice, immediately.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'm going to write post-game slow burn  
> me, instead: what if i imply the slow burn and skip straight to angst-


	2. Chapter 2

Waiting for her friends, Edelgard had set herself to work. She had brewed another pot of tea, but soon that was finished, and all she had to do was wait. Sitting in her desk chair, she bounces her leg, rapid tapping. The last time Hubert had been in her office had been on official business, a week ago. She’d been even sicker then, exhausted from her surgery, but she still worked. Another endearing quality of Edelgard. 

* * *

Her head had been on her desk, eyes shut. No, she was not asleep, simply resting her eyes, and she would claim as such to anyone who came in. However, any official visit was given an announcement, which had given Edelgard enough time to jerk her head upwards. The guard had knocked, and spoke, “Marquis Vestra says he has important reports for you, Your Majesty.”

Having tried to hide the grogginess in her voice, Edelgard had called out, “Allow him in.” 

Slinking in, Hubert had been the one to open the door. He had turned ‘round, to shut it perfectly behind him. He had eyed the door momentarily, as if it might open all on its own. Even dazed from waking up, Edelgard had known this was paranoia, something both of them had fought to _unlearn._ It had brought her to attention, straightening her back as she stood, knowing Hubert would not come so cautiously if he bore good news. 

A grimace on his face, Hubert had begun with a bow, “Lady Edelgard,”

Matching his dour nature, Edelgard had curtsied back, “Marquis Vestra, please, sit. What brings you here?” 

Hubert, ever dutiful, had not sat down, even though Edelgard returned to her chair. His voice low, Hubert had begun, “The worst has been realized. One of my spies has found evidence of Those Who Slither in the Dark continuing their experiments.” 

Cold dread had dropped from her throat to her stomach, and Edelgard’s eyes went saucer wide. “How?” Her voice was a mere whisper, back to her old fears. “ _Where?_ ” 

“In the far reaches of former Alliance territory,” Hubert had informed, though his shoulders were tense, “nearer to Fodlan’s Throat, at least, _we think._ They must have planned contingencies, in order to continue their schemes. We are lucky they’ve yet to invade a town, but travelers have been going missing.” Edelgard had not answered him, thick silence between them. She had instead pressed her head into her hands, and let Hubert continue. “I doubt they will make an attempt on your life, but I have begun the necessary precautions around the palace-” 

“Hubert.”

“- I have already begun to hire more guards, to cover more ground, especially near your chambers-”

“ _Hubert.”_

He paused. “Yes, Lady Edelgard?” 

“We will _never_ be free of them, will we?” 

“With our army as it stands now, no.” 

As quick as he had responded, Edelgard readied another question, “What do we need?” 

“Another country’s aid, most likely. More spies, more tacticians. T'would be even better if we could guarantee Almyra's aid, and corner them from both sides.” He had answered. Edelgard had let out a long, stifled groan, into her hands. 

* * *

Once more, Edelgard found herself being jolted back to reality by a knock at her door. She coughs a bit, but calls out for them to enter. Dorothea enters first, Hubert holding the door wide for her. Much like Edelgard, there are bags under her eyes, though the rest of her face was clean and well put together. They had all been working too much. Hubert follows, ever the shadow. 

Edelgard ushers the two of them to her couch, where she joins them, “Dorothea, Hubert, how lovely it is to see you both, please, sit-”

“Edie,” Dorothea’s voice is serious, though she sits across from Edelgard “You’re not the type to call for us at the end of the day for frivolous conversation. What happened?”

Before she can explain, Hubert nods his head, “I concur. This must be dire.” 

Edelgard takes a deep breath in. “I was parsing my letters, and I have... received a missive from Almyra's new king-” She wrinkles her nose, and hands the letter from King Khalid to them, “Just- read it.” 

As they read, Edelgard watches their faces. Some part of her feared; they would chastise her for over reacting. The offer was not _that_ tempting. Hubert’s lips stay drawn into a thin line, but Dorothea’s face turns downwards, and when she’s finished reading, she looks up. There is pity on Dorothea’s lips, “Oh, Edie…” 

“You want us to help you decide whether to marry him or not, correct?” Hubert queries. 

Edelgard nods, and swallows thick, “An alliance with Almyra would be… _invaluable._ Especially in discovering exactly where the rest of the Agarthans are hiding.” She explains. 

“Indeed…” Hubert mutters.

Dorothea shook her head, almost violently, “Would you really be okay with marrying a man you’ve not met? Aren’t you in love, Edie?” Concern is evident on her face. 

Nodding once more, Edelgard closes her eyes, “I _am,_ but I haven’t heard from Claude since he left. And if I turn down this offer now, saying I am waiting for someone – someone that I have no confirmation if he will return or not – I doubt the chance will come back.”

“Lady Edelgard is right, of course,” Hubert begins, but Dorothea interrupts

“She can be right _and_ be making a bad decision at the same time.” Edelgard flinches at Dorothea’s raising of her voice, but her friend continues on, grabbing the Emperor’s hands, “Edelgard, you have kept me up countless nights talking about how you want Claude to come back and court you, about your daydreams of a wedding in Deirdru. Are you going to throw that away?” 

Edelgard shrugs, and takes her hands back from Dorothea, “I don’t know. I don’t _know_ what to do.” 

It isn’t something many are privy to - Edelgard without her mask. Edelgard, with her head in her hands and _unsure._ She always made sure to portray herself as confident, without fear, as some might say, _radiant and striking,_ chasing success wherever she went. Now, faced with a decision that might change the course of her life, Edelgard knows not what to do. 

“It is your choice, Lady Edelgard.” Finally speaking, Hubert puts one hand on her shoulder. “You are right that Almyra’s aid is important, but so is your happiness… Almyra has ships, canons, a naval force that we could never compare to. Is that worth it?” 

Dorothea glared at him, and shook her head slightly. “Our Edie deserves better than that.” 

“And if this gets out - if King Korshid _announces_ that he would have allied with us, had I married him?” Edelgard finds herself countering, her voice harsher than anticipated, “That I, a selfish girl, let everlasting peace go to waste because I am in love.” 

“This is a private matter,” Hubert tries to soothe, but his argument comes out weak, “Many people might say he is in the wrong for announcing it.” Both Dorothea and Edelgard shoot Hubert a glance. Edelgard stands from the couch, and goes to her desk, though she refuses to sit. 

“Thank you,” Edelgard begins, “Both of you, for coming. I… Think I have made up my mind.” The sun is almost set, and Edelgard picks up her quill, and pulls a sheet of paper from her stock. The official letterhead was plain, the two headed eagle printed underneath her signature. Edelgard’s writing is petite, purposefully small. 

_King Khalid,_

_Bluntness will be our form of communication. I accept your proposal, Khalid, for the peace of both our nations._

_I will admit, you certainly know how to flatter a woman. But, you are also correct that flattery does not woo me. My hand is hard to win, but moreso, my heart. I warn you, only one has won my heart in my twenty six years. I doubt you will succeed if you endeavor such a thing._

_Let us speak details in our next correspondence. Shall we have two weddings, or one at Fódlan’s Locket, as it is the border between our countries._

_Finally, tell me more of yourself. You say I could guess more than you’d like - why is that, I could know much about a man I’ve never met? I suppose I can see your boldness, and there might be some brilliance, or at least, an inquisitive nature. Not many know my fondness for flowers._

_Your Betrothed,_

_Edelgard von Hresvelg._

Her hands shake as she finishes, but she folds the letter, and places it in an envelope. She addresses it, the trembling betrayed by a missed stroke. The red wax cubes she uses to seal her letters are in a small box on her desk, next to the small spoon used to hold them. Her candle’s flame quivers, under the spoon, and she pours the wax, stamps her personal seal, a peace lily and a cursive _E_ , before dropping the letter onto her desk.

Finally, she collapses into her chair. What was she thinking, she asks herself, holding this letter as if it could strike and kill her. She should take it, rip it up, and write a denial. Dorothea was right, she deserved to marry for more than this. But her mind circles back to the possibility of war, that there are some Agarthans still plotting, and how Fodlan is too fragile for the fight to continue. And what of Claude? What of her love? All she can picture is his face, staring at her out of the crowd of thousands that would surely be at such a wedding. What a betrayal that might be. 

Back bowed, Edelgard lets out a sob. Dorothea, at some point, had crossed towards her, and wraps her arm around her, pulling Edelgard to her. Her hand goes through Edelgard’s hair, down from its standard buns. Crying against Dorothea’s stomach, she tells herself once more, _stop mooning and moaning._ This will be good for Fódlan, and that is all that matters. 

In the morning, the letter will begin its travel to Almyra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst with friends
> 
> side note: i was NOT expecting the outpouring of attention from y'all! idk, it makes me excited to write more.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dearest Emperor Edelgard,_

_So it has been decided that we will wed at Fodlan’s Locket when the Harpstring Moon rises in the sky, as Spring will be beautiful. Of course, the bride will be more beautiful than the weather. I know we touched on it briefly, but I believe we should focus more on how our wedding will go. Since it will be at the Locket, I assumed we will have a Fodlanic ceremony. There’s a perfectly acceptable chapel there, after all. Will you ask your Lady of Religious Affairs to officiate?_

_Unlike a Fodlan wedding, there are many ceremonies and such before an Almyran wedding._

_Obviously, we cannot have a traditional first Khastegāri, that is, the meeting in which we decide to marry, there are some bits of Almyran tradition we can manage. My father would also like to have an informal Baleh Borān with you - his letter should arrive with mine. He’ll also explain some traditions my mother insists on._

_Similarly, there’s no point in fussing over a second khastegāri - we both know the value in marrying each other. It will bring peace for our countries. And if I must, I will tell you of my virtues and prospects. I am the King of Almyra, our people are of the hardy, bright kind, and we have a navy. Your virtues of brilliance and championing equality as also known. One more formality is done._

_I have received the wedding uniform from your Prime Minister’s husband, Lord Gloucester-Aeigr. Likewise, my aunt, Almyra’s Royal Tactician has sent your dress._

_Enough formality; I cannot wait to see you in your wedding dress. It is cliche, I’m aware, but I know you will be radiant. There are many things I cannot say in a letter. I fear your right hand might be peering over your shoulder. Alas, if we had more time, I might say we should host an engagement party; my people call it a nāmzadi. I think you would like all the sweets involved. I have sent you a few to whet your appetite._

_Your Betrothed,_

_Khalid._

True to his word, Khalid’s letter arrived with many packages. Gifts had inundated Edelgard’s office, and she’s sure she has sent him just as many. Flowers, a hand carved backgammon board, many other assortments. It was one of Fódlan’s traditions that Almyra shared - gifts were plentiful to smooth an arranged marriage. Months ago, they had both been sending measurements, so that their wedding attire would be perfect. Today, she sees the dress of beautiful, fine silk, folded with its accompanying sash and shalvar. The sleeves and skirt are white, though dotted with golden embroidery, and the bodice is a deep crimson, complete with gold around the neckline and where the fabric changes at the skirt. The shalvar - a pair of pants that Edelgard might compare to a longer version of bloomers - is this same dark red color, and so is her sash, which she knows will be worn over her chest. The sash looks long enough to drape the floor once it is on her. 

Her veil and wedding train are here too, though she’s too afraid to unwrap it. Leave it for the wedding day, she tells herself, though she can see it has been themed to gold and red. How fitting, but the gold only causes her heart to hurt a little. Her Golden Deer was long gone, probably heartbroken when the marriage was announced. Edelgard pushes it aside, and turns her eyes to the next package. It is sealed very tightly, and when she finally manages her knife through the wax across the top, a poof of sugar meets her face.

So Khalid was not jesting, when he said he would send her sweets.

She takes a hold of one. It is a round piece of fried dough, and the tight sealing in its paper crate has kept it fresh. Edelgard takes a bite - it is lightly sweet, airy. She wonders if Khalid knew of her favorite sweets. Then she remembers - she told him in a letter months ago.

His father’s letter comes in an envelope similar to his own. Edelgard takes another bite, and begins to read:

_Greetings, Emperor Edelgard,_

_As my son must have informed you, my name is Kian Bahram Mirza. I must admit, I am not fond of this hasty marriage. In my culture, you would have met with my wife, Khalid, and I, and we would have decided on the arrangement in a khastegāri. However, I must admit, my son was thrilled when you accepted. Perhaps all this haste is worth seeing my son smile ear to ear._

_Traditionally, a baleh borān would be a formal event, involving announcing the marriage, though both of you announced so quickly. You and Khalid have already determined the conditions of marriage, and the date, so all there is for me to send you is a ring._

_Yes, I know, in Fodlan it is tradition for your husband to give you an engagement ring. However, the baleh borān gift has always been a ring, and my wife said it would double._

_Speaking of my wife, Lady Gloria has requested holding a hanā bandān with you. I believe that you might call it a ‘henna ceremony.’ It would be the night before the wedding, and there are many requirements. You would need an unwed woman to help apply henna to your hands, though as many of your friends as you wish may join you. While it is traditionally a ceremony meant for women, I have been informed that you, quote “cannot stop Ferdinand von Aeigr from being [your] maid of honor.” If there is anyone like a mother to you, invite her as well. She will have a part in the ceremony._

_Welcome to our family,_

_Kian Bahram Mirza_

* * *

A few months had passed - a few more letters have been sent. Manuela had been lingering in Edelgard’s office; her check ups were weekly, now. She hadn’t had many headaches recently, and her cold was all but gone, though she was still experiencing pains all throughout her scars. Both mused this might be a life long problem, and gave in. Manuela sits on Edelgard’s couch, but Edelgard is on the floor, working on wedding invitations, with all her parchment on the coffee table. Manuela looks up in the air, and asks, “Did the rabbi ever respond?”

“Ah! Yes,” Edelgard perks up, and nods her head, “He was quite pleased that I responded, and invited me to assembly. Though, with planning the wedding, I doubt I’ll have time.”

“Would you consider it otherwise?” Manuela quirks her brow.

Pursing her lips, Edelgard finally nods again, “It would be an invaluable opportunity to learn about a culture that is an intrinsic part of Enbarr and Adrestia that oft goes ignored. And I think it’d be good for me, if only to learn to be respectful.”

It makes Manuela laugh, “You’ve grown up, Edelgard!” She reaches over from where she sits, and pinches Edelgard’s cheek, having rounded out since her crest was removed. She pinks, under the freckles on her skin.

“Not enough for you to treat me like an adult, I see.”

“I will stop babying you when you stop calling me auntie.” Manuela counters.

Despite herself, Edelgard sticks her tongue out. “Not a chance, Auntie Manuela.”

“Unbelievable!” Manuela cries under her snickering, a chorus of laughter, “Our high and mighty Emperor, behaving like a child!”

“You just said you would baby me,” Edelgard finds herself snorting as she laughs, “I was simply returning the favor.”

Eventually, the laughter dies, and Edelgard goes back to addressing invitations. In her petite writing, the name banner of _‘Marianne and Hilda Edmund-Gonreil’_ looks strange, and she shows the invitation to Manuela. Her ink is golden, matching the decorations on the white parchment. “Does this look good?”

“I thought Lady Marianne was officiating.” Manuela comments instead.

“She _was,_ but Linhardt found out and was so personally offended that I did not ask him first. I told him that I assumed he didn’t want to, and he said that he was, and I _quote_ , lazy, not cruel. So now Lin is officiating, and Caspar has the unenviable task of being both wedding guest and officiant assistant.” Edelgard’s expression is a little worried, but then she puffs her cheeks out, and asks, “Is the invitation legible?” 

“Yes, dear, your writing is fine.” Manuela’s eyes roll, and she sighs, “Though, I don’t know why you don’t hire someone to do this.”

“All of my friends _know_ my handwriting.” Edelgard explains, folding this invitation, and sealing it. “They’ll know if someone else made my invitations.” 

“You’re the Emperor, dear, out of anyone, you have the most excuse to have someone else address your invitations.” Manuela pats Edelgard’s shoulder, “Even Lysithea and Cyril had someone else do theirs.”

“That’s because neither of them have decent handwriting.” Edelgard comments, pulling another sheet out, “I always need help reading Lysithea’s letters.”

Manuela let out a quick breath, “Fair enough.”

“Isn’t it strange?” Edelgard notes, “Her wedding is after mine, isn’t it? She’s been planning for much longer.”

“Well, Cyril _is_ part of the Royal Family of Almyra,” Manuela adds, “Maybe he knew he should wait until relations with Fodlan were smoothed over.”

Edelgard shrugs, and signs her next invitation, for Petra and Bernadetta. Petra was now The Queen of Brigid and Bernadetta was her _life partner,_ as Bernadetta never wanted to be married. “Hand me those little cards, if you please, Auntie.”

“Oh, you’ve already done these.” Manuela comments, as she moves them over. “Hanā bandān?”

“Oh, yes,” Edelgard responds, “My soon to be mother in law insisted that I must have a henna ceremony before the wedding. It would help the Almyran people see me as a suitable match for Khalid, even if they’re curious to see the woman who defeated General Prince Nader twice.”

“How many people are you inviting?” Manuela asks, “I know you’re not one for big parties.”

“Not like I have much choice. Apparently with how large his family is, I will be meeting people for a whole week. And the celebration of a royal wedding in Almyra can last a month.” Edelgard rolls her eyes, then her smile turns fond, “Meanwhile, my father used to talk about how his two hour wedding was exhausting.”

“So… How many?” Manuela scoots forward, curious. “You’ve only made eight of these cards. But I know you, and at least two of these are just in case you make a mistake.”

Edelgard sighs, and counts on her fingers. “Five - well- no, five. Ferdinand, Dorothea, Bernadetta, Petra, and Lysithea.” 

“Why the hesitation?”

This time, she huffs, and Edelgard seems to deflate. “Lady Gloria, Khalid's mother, said that I must have someone there who is like a mother to me, to take mines place. Since… she-” Her mother, what a sore topic. Edelgard didn’t like to talk about it, and Manuela knew it. Edelgard had told her, once before, in the vaguest of details. Patricia had abandoned her. “Well, anyways- I was _meaning_ to ask-” 

Manuela laughs, “You’re going to ask Byleth, aren’t you?”

“What?” A puzzled looks crosses her face, as she seals another envelope. “I meant to ask _you_ if you would do me the honor of playing mother of the bride.” 

“Me?” Her voice carries the incredulous tone of a drunken songbird. “Why me? I’m your physician, not your mother.”

“All of us Black Eagles have called you _Auntie Manuela_ since we were in the academy.” Edelgard responds, “Of course, if you do not want to, I won’t force you-”

“I’m going to,” Manuela cuts her off, and moves so that she is perfectly behind Edelgard, rather than off to the side. She starts to braid Edelgard’s hair, “And, my first duty as mother of the bride is to make sure you get this ink out of your beautiful, brown hair.”

“Ack- How did-!” 

* * *

It is quiet at the Goneril estate, as Hilda and Marianne share dinner. They speak of their day, of upcoming marriages and baby announcements, of how the Goneril Territory’s people fare. Tea is sipped, gossip is shared, and eventually, two _very_ fanciful letters are opened. One from Edelgard, an invitation to her wedding to Khalid al Mirza, which was to be at the locket.

“As if we could miss it! It’s in our own damn-” a dirty look from Marianne, “Darn house.” 

A second letter, inviting her to _Khalid Claude von Riegan-Mirza’s_ wedding, at the locket, to Edelgard von Hresvelg. Hilda holds up both of the letters, and squints. Marianne is the one who comments, softly.

“Do you… think she knows?” 

“She’s _gotta,_ right?”

“Right...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wine aunt has her moment of clarity (ps, edelgard's dress is based on [this](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/379868532298481666/656623528971599913/image0.jpg))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is nearly double the length of the rest of the chapters. oops.
> 
> EDIT, Friday, March 20: According to a lil magazine clippit, claude's true name is actually Khalid. So I thought I'd edit it in!

_ Edelgard, _

_ Hi, sorry for not keeping in touch since… really, our academy days. Thanks for not killing me back in Deirdru, that was nice of you.  _

_ Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that you addressed your husband-to-be in your wedding invitations as “Korshid Mirza,” but that’s not his full name. I bet you did it on purpose, but his full name is “Khalid Claude von Riegan-Mirza.”  _

_ Keep in touch, _

_ Hilda V. Goneril-Edmund _

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ Hey, so, Edelgard probably doesn’t realize you’re Khalid. Like, put only “Khalid” on the wedding invitations. She’s obsessed with being proper, right? Wouldn’t she put Claude on there? She’s not responded to my letter either.  _

_ Hope you don’t die at your wedding, _

_ Hilda V. Goneril-Edmund _

* * *

The Bridal Chamber, a small bedroom in the Locket, was covered in linens and silk, as most of the bridesmaids slept on the floor. Only Edelgard and Dorothea remained awake, as Edelgard takes another swallow of wine. Her hands are decorated with henna, beautiful swirls of brown against her skin. Dorothea eyes her worriedly, and reaches to take the glass away. 

“Come now, Edie,” she says, “You don’t want to be hungover at your own wedding.”

The bitter laughter that follows is heartbreaking, “Maybe then I won’t remember it.” Edelgard says in turn, and tightens her grip on the glass. Her whole world feels woozy, but she doesn’t care.

“Edie, that’s horrible! It’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life… You regret saying yes, don’t you?” Dorothea asks, and finally manages to take the glass away, and stands to pour it out.

“Regret?” Edelgard parrots, her voice a whisper, “I have never felt such  _ guilt  _ in my whole life, even more than when we all thought Byleth was dead. Yes, I regret! Is that what you want to hear?”

Dorothea shakes her head, “I was hoping that by now, you would have formally called off the engagement. Edie, you don’t want to marry him.”

“I have done many things I did not  _ want.”  _ She reminds in kind, but there are heavy tears in her eyes. “What is one more?”

“This isn’t school or the war, this is the rest of your  **life.** If you’re having second thoughts,” Dorothea sighs, and looks at their sleeping friends. If Petra were awake, she’d say something about having fought for love, and Bernadetta would say that if Edelgard really wanted to be married, she shouldn’t have to drink her way through the ceremony. Ferdinand might chastise her for starting a bad habit, telling her to turn back before it's too late, and Lysithea would pout, which was the most effective tactic on Edelgard. But Dorothea is the one awake, so she suggests gently, “Just… consider saying no, saying ‘I don’t,’ whatever.”

Edelgard stares at her hands, “It is tempting. I  _ don’t _ want to marry him.” She confirms, “But what choice have I? We have announced it to our countries, everyone is here, and to call it off now? What a waste of resources.” 

Dorothea flusters, and sits down on the floor, next to Edelgard. She grabs at Edelgard’s blanket, trying to force her to sleep, “I don’t know what to tell you, Edie.”

Edelgard sighs, “I wish I listened to you. You were right, I deserve to be happy. But I squandered my chance.” She shrugs, and accepts her fate as another blanket is wrapped around her. Alcohol had loosened her lips. As her head tilts, Edelgard asks, “What’s a happy marriage like, Dorothea? You and Byleth seem so… effervescent, when you’re together.” 

Laying down next to her friend, Dorothea begins telling her stories, “Well, when we first bought our house, the first thing Byleth did was carry me in, and kiss me in the doorway. She said it wasn’t home until I’d been loved in every corner of it Well, you remember, I couldn’t walk the next day-.”

“Okay, that’s too much detail-“ Despite herself, it does make Edelgard giggle. 

“You wanted to know.” Dorothea says, and lightly hits Edelgard’s shoulder, “You gossip.”

“I did learn from the best, Dorothea.” She wriggles to lay closer to her friend, and affectionately butts her head against Dorothea’s shoulder. “Thank you, for listening.”

“What else are friends for?”

* * *

All of Fodlan’s Locket was decorated with fresh flowers, beautiful silks and bows. Edelgard had hired all the decorators, caterers, having planned all the way down to the cleaning staff, though the gold to pay them with had been split amongst the marrying parties. In Fodlan, the wife’s family paid for the wedding, but apparently that tradition had fallen out of favor in Almyra. Perhaps because of how long the parties could last. Perhaps because it was a joining of families, the opening of arms. Either way, Edelgard insisted on being in charge of planning, supposedly to pay homage to that tradition. In reality, she liked keeping busy. The busier she was, the less she thought about it. Dorothea knew this, so did Hubert, but the rest of their wedding guests thought her just a dutiful woman.

Right now, Hilda could care less. Her nerves were  _ high _ , ever since she’d sent her letters. Neither had responded, and though Claude verbally acknowledged it, he wasn’t concerned. He said that she had to know, it was simply impossible for her not to. Hilda, giving the air of not caring, had shrugged it off with him. However, it was Marianne who was truly anxious. And that meant Hilda had to be anxious too.

So, as the guests begin to gather around midmorning, as the nuptials were planned for noon, Hilda casually approaches Dorothea. They’d been friends at the academy, this should be easy. “Hey, Dorothea!” She calls, walking towards her. Easy. Calm. Just a friend excited to see a friend.

“Hey,” Dorothea responds, and giggles, falsely, “How have you been?”

“Just peachy,” Hilda responds.  _ Are we playing this game, Doro? Are we  _ **_really?_ **

Quickly, pretense is dropped, and Dorothea’s smile drops, with her voice, “I’m sorry about Claude,” she says, “I’m sure he must be heartbroken.”

Hilda flips her hair out of her face, nonchalant, “Well, these things have a way of working out,” her heart beats a little bit too hard, “How’s the Emperor?”

“... Not well. She drank herself into a stupor last night, cried while we were fixing her wedding train. She thinks she can brave face her way through this.” Dorothea shakes her head, “Edie is brilliant, but Gods, does she make bad decisions.”

“Could say the same thing for Claude,” Hilda comments, and manages an uncomfortable laugh, “ _ Anyways, _ I, uh, need to go check on, uh, Marianne! Bye!”

Never had she walked so quickly,  _ never.  _ Claude better thank her, Hilda thinks. The groom was on the other side of the fortress, being readied by his second-best man ( Hilda was obviously the first. ) Normally Hilda liked her height - it made her cute, diminutive, but now she curses her short legs, pushes past Rapheal as he offers her some food, ignores Lorenz as he heads to the chapel, and barges into the groom’s room. No knocking needed, civility be damned.

Claude is adjusting the shoulder pads of the uniform, last minute fixes to make him absolutely perfect. The uniform was white, accented mainly with gold, a few spots of red. He wears knee high boots of black leather, as if he were going to jump atop his wyvern at the end of the ceremony. Which, to be fair, he was. The final part of the ceremony, after the pagoshā ( or reception, for the Fodlanic folk, ) he and Edelgard would fly off to the wedding bed, a cottage on Almyra’s coast.

Of course, none of that would matter if Claude spent the first week of his marriage on the couch, or dead. The former was acceptable and preferable to the latter, but neither was  _ good. _

“Hey, Hilda! How’s my best man?” Claude asks her, turning round to show her a smile with sparkling green eyes. He had been on cloud nine for weeks, as the wedding approached.

“Red alert, Claude!” Hilda starts, “You need to go to the bride’s room  **now.”**

“What do you mean?” Claude turns puzzled. “That’s bad luck- well, in Fodlan, anyways.”

“Remember that letter I sent you-“

“And remember I told you, there’s no way she couldn’t know.” Claude rolled his eyes, “We’ve been bantering in our letters for months, seriously, you  _ should  _ read them.” 

“Ew, I’m not reading your love letters- and that’s not the point!” Hilda scoffs, and decides to  **stretch** the truth, “Dorothea said she’s tempted to back out because of how  _ bad  _ she feels about abandoning you. She  _ really  _ thinks she’s marrying someone else.”

“ _ What?”  _ That sends him into alarm, and it seems he finally got the  _ red alert.  _ Claude’s back straightens, and he moves to the door. “I’ve got to go.”

“Uhm, yeah!”

Just as Claude leaves the room, and begins his race across the fortress, Hilda calls, “Don’t die!”

* * *

The chapel bells are so  _ loud  _ in her ears. Edelgard has never liked chapel bells, never in her whole twenty seven years. Even now, even when she has finally grown past her intrinsic dislike of chapels, she hates the bells, oh, how much her head aches. Or maybe it is simply the tight braid, or the amount of wine she had drunk the night before, trying to forget the man she once loved. Still loves. Edelgard is still in love with Claude. But she doubts he would love her now.

Part of her supposes this was always her fate. As ninth in line, Edelgard was little more than securing a trade deal to her mother, who had been charged with her care. Of course, Edelgard knows better, that Patricia was moving through the motions of motherhood, may not have even  _ been  _ Patricia by the time that Edelgard remembers of her. Still, it has stuck with her.

_ You may be unhappy. Your husband may even be cruel. Just remember, it is all for Adrestia. All for your people, and you will survive through it. _

She wonders, now, if it was simply planting the seed, that has grown and wilted into a woman, who conquered a nation all while backed into a corner. But that is over now, she tells herself. Edelgard smooths the dress, her hands folded in her lap, and self soothes with the thought that she will not have to fear Those Who Slither soon. That her tangled web of thoughts will eventually end, and she might even grow to like this Khalid. After all, he reminded her all too keenly of Claude, but Edelgard shakes her head. Her life was tragedy after tragedy, and she would never be so lucky. She will tolerate him, and the kids they might bear, she will love them. At least she won’t be like her mother.

All for your people, she tells herself, adjusting the train so that it is even behind her back. Her handmaidens put flowers, roses and carnations, buttercups and yellow begonias, all throughout it, adding weight, but she looked beautiful, like a garden followed her where she went. Despite it, her eyes are heavy laden, wet; Edelgard tries to wipe them away. She still had to put on some makeup, its own form of mask.

Edelgard hears a rapping at her door, but doesn’t have time to call for them to wait. The door swings wide. It has been almost two years she has seen  **Claude** , but Edelgard recognizes him by footsteps alone, the pattern in how he walks. Had she any doubts, she sees him in her mirror, cheeks flushed as if he were running, his hair a fluff of curls, and the shock of the wedding uniform making her heart skip a beat.

Before she can stop herself, Edelgard turns on her heels, and demands, “Claude, what are you doing here?” One hand comes up to touch his forearm, as if she thinks he isn’t real. He is very physically solid, and breathing heavily. Claude grabs her hand, and squeezes it tight. “You—  _ are _ you?”

“Khalid. Khalid Claude von Riegan Mirza.” He confirms, taking his own hand to gently thumb the side of her cheek. He doesn’t mean to, but he whispers. “I thought you knew.”

Which receives an incredulous little chuckle, “How was I supposed to—“ Edelgard sniffles, and shuts her eyes; tears leak down her face. She thinks she has never cried audibly, before, not since she was a little girl. And yet her sobs come out loudly, like broken beats of bird’s wings.

Wiping those away with the same, gentle motion, Claude shakes his head, “I thought you’d pieced it together, especially after that backgammon board you sent me.” A strange look of fondness crosses his face, and despite her crying, Edelgard cannot help but smile. “Remember, no matter what you did, I always managed to surprise you, even when you won.”

“Even then.” Edelgard finds herself responding in kind, and then turns her lips downwards, “Stop bantering with me. I should be  _ furious  _ with you.” 

“Are you furious with me?” He asks her, a genuine question. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

“Yes—  _ maybe. _ ” Is what she finally says, her lips pursed. “I spent so many nights thinking I was betraying you. Fearing that I would be loveless and alone,” And thus, she nuzzles her face into his hand, even as she asks, “Why all the pretense?”

“Because I am  _ dramatic,  _ El .” He answers casually, which makes Edelgard glare at him. “You want the real answer? Because I thought either way, I’d get to marry you. If you said yes to Khalid, I thought you’d piece together who I am, and if you said no because you love me, well, how lucky for you that Khalid turns out to be Claude.” 

“That’s a dangerous gambit,” Edelgard rolls her eyes through her tears, “I still might very well deny you at the altar, you know.”

Claude shakes his head, “Would you, now?” He leans over, and kisses her nose. “How do I make it up to you?”

For an agonizingly long moment, Edelgard thinks. With her eyes red and puffy from crying, miserable lilac hues full of tears, and her ragged breathing, she looks like she might just deny him. Call the whole wedding off, in this moment of wearing her emotions for him. Her pink lips open, her voice commanding.

“Give me your slice of wedding cake.” 

Releasing his breath, Claude almost laughs in relief, “That’s it? You ask so little of me!" He wraps his arms ‘round her, and spins his bride.

Which earns the reprimand, “Put me down!” 

He does, but his arms stay around her. Edelgard puts her head against his shoulder, and the two stay like that. Bad luck be damned, he wants to kiss her right now; he wonders if Edelgard feels the same compulsion. As opposite as the back of a coin, Edelgard muses, would it be _ bad  _ to kiss him before the ceremony? Certainly so, and yet...

Before either can act on such impulses, the door flung open again, and comes out a red faced Hubert, a piece of parchment clutched in his hands. “Your Highness, we intercepted a letter from Lady Hilda before it—“ Hubert huffs, one good eye looking over the to be wedded couple, embraced, and  _ scowls,  _ “It seems you are already aware.”

Edelgard nods, and then her eyes go saucer wide, pushing Claude away. “It is bad  _ luck,  _ Claude, for you to see me in my gown!” 

“You have never believed in luck,” Claude responds, but leaves anyways, “Besides, it only counts in Fodlan.” Then, he looks over to Hubert, and back to Edelgard, “Your hair is brown-”

“We are in Fodlan, Claude.” She interrupts him, before laughing. “Go, now, I need to clean myself up. I’ll tell you later.” As Claude turns to leave, Edelgard smiles to herself. A thousand weights had lifted from her shoulders. Wishing to be alone for a moment, Edelgard calls, “Hubert, please escort Claude back to his chamber, it would be remiss for people to see the groom leaving the bridal chamber alone.”

She can almost hear Claude groaning as Hubert walks with him.

* * *

A hush had fallen over the chapel. Everyone watched, and waited, as the door opens. First comes Petra and Bernadetta, who hold the door open, while first, Lysithea and Manuela enter. Though neither are related to her, they are like family to Edelgard, and they precede her to the altar. Lysithea throws petals from a basket, as all eyes fall on the Emperor herself. She gives herself away, no father or brother in sight. Her head is held high, and she walks perfectly in time with the violins. Covered by her veil, no one sees her expression, and many expect it to be sad. Behind her, the train of flowers is held by Dorothea and Ferdinand, a garden falling behind her. 

Linhardt stands at the altar, his hands resting on two different scriptures - that of Sothis, and that of Almyra’s god, Lyrae. As the bride arrives, he reads from neither of them, instead from a card that Caspar hands him, but the gesture is appreciated by those in attendance. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of King Khalid Claude von Riegan-Mirza and Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, the joining of hands between Almyra and Fodlan.”

“Rarely has peace ever truly reigned in our world - in times where warfare lights our skies with conflict, we neglect those we love. Today, and perhaps forever, we may turn our attention to our personal battles, stand with our fellow man, and move forward hand in hand. Edelgard,” Linhardt turns his head to her. “Do you take this man, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

The air is heavy, and everyone in attendance waits on bated breath. Edelgard can feel the eyes on her, worried friends and, perhaps more worried, nobles gathered at the back of the hall. She can hear a few whispers, as she responds,

“I do.”

“And, Khalid, do you take this woman, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

And he responds in kind, “I do.” 

“Now, before we lift the veils and bring you both into this new part of your lives, it’s been requested of me to pay homage to an Almyran tradition. As these sugar cones sprinkle upon your heads, we hope they bring sweetness and prosperity into your life.  _ Now,  _ you may kiss the bride.” 

Finally, her veil is lifted. Light plays on Edelgard’s face, a beauty of her own kind. Yes, she is freckled, but she wears them like constellations; her cheeks are round and her button nose is  _ cute,  _ yet she does not look like a little girl. She meets her husband’s eyes, green and sparkling, and notes his noble stance, his hook nose showing pride, and his lips smiling. Neither wishes to make the first move, but someone needs to, and Edelgard wraps her arms around Claude’s neck, draws him down to her, and their lips connect.

Somewhere, people are cheering, but Edelgard and Claude really can’t care. They feed each other’s warmth, as his hands rest in the curve of her back, and Edelgard curls her fingers into his hair. The kiss is far longer than the peck most everyone anticipated, one moment breaking for air, as neither feels compelled to let go. Eventually, it takes Hilda tapping Claude’s shoulder and Ferdinand tugging Edelgard’s train back a bit, to get them to release each other.

Claude takes her hand, and they walk down the aisle together. Somewhere between the altar and the door, her wedding train is released, the weight of it being far too much for Claude’s wyvern to carry. The beast’s wings beat outside the chapel door, waiting for her rider and her purpose in the ceremony. Friends see them off, Claude slinging his foot over the harness as Dorothea gives him a dirty glance. 

Edelgard brings herself up onto his wyvern, with help from one of his hands, and they lock lips once more. Both wave to their friends, and take off as the sun warms them. Everyone waves back, weeping from happiness or smiling brightly. 

They kiss once more, before Claude snaps the reigns, making them go higher, ready to honeymoon.


End file.
